by Emma Newman
“I…I need to speak to my superior.”
“Is he here?”
“No, I need to make a phone call.”
“That would take far too long and be most inconvenient. You don’t need to phone someone to ask if one person can speak to the people here, surely? Certainly not the Duchess of Londinium.”
A muscle beneath his right eye twitched. She felt sorry for him. “This way,” he finally said after a glance at Carter’s arms.
“Keep an eye on him,” she whispered to Carter.
The manager had a brief hushed conversation with the orderly, who began to round up members of staff they came across on the way to the dining hall. Cathy’s heartbeat became more frantic with every step. What if they didn’t believe her? What if they laughed at her? What if her voice came out like air from a leaky balloon when she got up to speak?
But then she was in the dining hall, all of the residents assembled at long tables and the last members of staff being ushered in. She found a chair to stand on with a helping hand from Carter.
Cathy took a breath, trying to stop her knees from shaking as the assembled looked at her. There were about thirty staff and over a hundred residents and every single one regarded her expectantly.
“Good evening,” she began.
“Speak up!” someone called from the back.
“My name is Catherine and I’m the Duchess of Londinium. I feel you should know that, because it might make you believe that I can actually do what I’m about to.” She glanced at Carter. He was busy watching the room, vigilant for foul play. “I know that many of you were put in this place against your will because you had an opinion that was dangerous to Society. I know that many of you have tried to leave and couldn’t, because of a Charm placed on the boundary.”
“I knew it!” a man cried out and was rapidly shushed by those around him.
“I also know that some of you are here because you need to live in Mundanus again. And I can understand that. But I don’t think you should be confined to one part of it, and I don’t think anyone has the right to keep anyone here who doesn’t want to be, regardless of why you ended up here in the first place.”
The room was silent, every face fixed intently upon her. The manager was drained of colour, nurses and orderlies gathered around him. Some looked terrified.
“And I say this to the staff too. There’s more to life than doing what they’ve told you to do. You should have choices and you should have rights as employees. The right to earn wages, to resign and do something totally different with your life if that’s what you want. I know how the Agency works now and it’s wrong to just let them use you like slaves.”
The staff looked at each other and then to the manager.
An elderly woman caught Cathy’s eye, smiling away like she was watching a fabulous play. “Go on,” the lady mouthed to her.
“I’m going to open a Way to my house in Londinium. Anyone who wishes to leave this place may come with me. I’ll give you somewhere to stay that’s safe from the Agency so you can decide what you want to do with your lives. If you don’t want to leave Mundanus, that’s fine—come with me and you can stay in the mundane wing of the house. I’ll help each and every one of you to find a way to be independent if that’s what you wish. No one has the right to keep you here. No one has the right to tell you how to live and no one has the right to control what you say or think. So I say…sod them! Let’s find our own way. Who’s coming with me?”
The streets of Oxenford were deserted, something Will found rather disconcerting. He was surrounded by the most beautiful architecture, reminding him of Aquae Sulis with its warm sand-coloured stone and neo-classical grandeur, but without people promenading and eager to be seen in their finery.
“Is it always this quiet here?”
The clip of Margritte’s shoes echoed from the walls as they hurried down a narrow street, wide enough for only one carriage. “No.”
“Who sits on this council? Anyone who’ll be sympathetic?”
“To me or to you?”
“You,” he replied. She was the one at risk; she’d convinced the Sorcerer to take not only him but several other members of the Iris family into custody. He had no idea what the Council was like, nor the kind of justice they dispensed, but suspected she’d be exiled from the city at the very least.
“My son is the Vice-Chancellor,” she said.
“And the Chancellor, is he a reasonable man?”
She didn’t reply. The narrow lane opened out onto a wider street and she guided him to the right. His ankle was throbbing but he could limp along well enough. He wanted to go home and have a brandy and a meal and put it all behind him.
In moments a curved building came into view on the right, surrounded by a set of high railings punctuated by stone pillars. On top of each one was a carved bust but Will didn’t stop to examine them. He was too busy trying to think of a way to bring Margritte out of the situation unscathed. If they exiled her, he’d take her back to Londinium. He wondered whether anyone had noticed he and his men hadn’t returned. Unlikely, if it was only the evening. He looked at his ring finger and the dried blood. There were still splinters to be pulled out. He thought back to when he felt it hurt when Cathy was attacked. Was she aware something had happened to him? Was Lord Iris aware?
As they reached the doors they both heard someone shouting within.
“I demand to see the Chancellor!”
“My brother,” Will said. It was going to be more complicated than he hoped. Not only would they have to placate the ruling council of Oxenford, they’d have to talk Nathaniel down from a temper. “He sounds worse than he actually is,” he said to Margritte when he noticed how nervous she looked. “Don’t worry, I’ll make sure he sees reason. There’s no point making this into something worse than it needs to be. We can discuss compensation for the Irises who reside here. It can all be fixed.”
Dreadfully pale, Margritte pushed the door open and they walked in, unchallenged by any guards, which surprised Will. To get into the Londinium Court one would have to pass through several guarded points. Here, it felt like anyone could walk in off the street and straight into the presence of those in power.
They walked through one antechamber to the sound of Nathaniel demanding to be treated with respect and then Margritte opened doors onto a large D-shaped interior with seating running in a horseshoe shape around the room. There were two levels of gallery seats, marble pillars and a fresco on the ceiling with dramatic orange clouds.
At the far end of the room, a young man—who looked so like Bartholomew that Will’s breath caught in his throat—was sitting in a chair at the centre of a crescent of seated gentlemen nearing twenty in number. Nathaniel was shouting at him and he didn’t seem to be taking the pressure well. It looked like he was trying not to be sick.
The other men, all presumably members of the Council, were either locked in hushed discussions with each other or studiously avoiding Nathaniel’s glare. No one noticed they had entered.
“Oh, no.” Margritte clutched his arm. “The torches are out.”
He noticed two elaborate gilded stands, one on either side of her son’s chair. It looked like small baskets at the top could hold flames when lit. “Why does that matter?”
“It means the Chancellor is dead.”
But Will saw something that made him far more concerned: the sword hanging from Nathaniel’s waist belonged to the Patroon. Sir Iris himself must have given it to him, meaning that Nathaniel was there with his authority, and an implicit blessing to use it where he deemed fit. That the Patroon had given it to the best swordsman in Albion was a powerful statement.
“Let’s sort this mess out,” Margritte said and strode down the aisle to reach the Council. She walked ahead bravely as he struggled to think of a way through that would see her safe and his brother satisfied.
“Mr Reticulata-Iris, I am Margritte Semper-Augustus Tulipa and I beg your forgiveness for interrupting you. As yo
u can see, your brother is here with me, and we are both ready to explain what happened today. Please don’t see it as a sign of disrespect that only the Vice-Chancellor is here. I assure you he is the highest ranking individual in Oxenford.”
Nathaniel didn’t turn straightaway, forcing her to address his back most rudely. He turned slowly as she spoke of the Vice-Chancellor, fixing her with such a hateful look that his face was monstrous.
“Perhaps William can—”
Nathaniel backhanded her with such force she was knocked onto the floor and for a few moments lay there without moving. Her son cried out but when Nathaniel turned and looked at him he sank back into his chair, cowed.
Horrified, Will started to walk towards Nathaniel, hoping Margritte would stay still and let him talk his brother down. “See, I am here, Nathaniel,” he said as lightly as he could. “I know passions are high, but surely we do not need to strike a woman to express ourselves?”
Nathaniel’s eyes widened at the sight of him and Will remembered the bruising on his face. “My brother,” he said, stepping over Margritte. “I’m so glad to see you.” In seconds he had strode over to Will and planted a hand on his chest. “Lord Iris intends that I take this city,” he whispered. “Back me up.” He turned around and went back to the Council as Margritte was struggling onto her hands and knees, clearly badly shaken. Nathaniel’s signet ring that marked him as their father’s heir had cut her cheek and Will felt himself spiralling into despairing panic. It was going to happen again; Iris was going to use them to take another city and destroy more lives.
Nathaniel put his hand between her shoulder blades and pushed her back to the floor. “Stay down, whore. You kidnap my brother, have him beaten and you expect me to listen to the lies that fall from your mouth? I know what you’re capable of. Your husband tried to have my sister-in-law murdered. You haven’t learned the lesson my brother taught your family, it seems.”
“Your brother has been returned to you.” Margritte’s son finally found his voice. “I ask that you leave and we will deal with this matter ourselves.”
“What’s your name?”
“Alexander.”
“I hardly think the son of the perpetrator will dispense any justice I find satisfactory, Alexander. Where is this Chancellor of yours?”
Alexander glanced at the others in the council and a few nodded to him. “My mother spoke the truth,” he replied. “Oxenford is without a Chancellor. I—”
“Then whom do I duel to take the city?”
The men who’d remained silent burst into cries of indignation. “This is Oxenford, sir!” one of them shouted. “We are a civilised city—the paragon of enlightenment and learning. We do not duel for power like barbarians!”
Nathaniel stared at him. “Then how do you go about finding a new Chancellor? Don’t tell me that lily over there will inherit the title?”
“The Chancellor is voted in by the Congregation of Oxenford. It will take several days to organise.”
“You can’t vote a new one in?”
“We are the Hebdomadal Council, sir,” another man said in a tremulous voice. “It is not our place to do so.”
“But…” one of them said, drawing Nathaniel’s attention with the tone of his voice. “There is a statute dictating that, should an emergency arise, the Hebdomadal Council does have the right to elect a Chancellor.” Ignoring the furious glares of his fellows, the man cleared his throat. “I do consider this an emergency.”
Will was convinced the man was a Wisteria. There was something about his hairline that gave it away, and the way he was willing to ingratiate himself with whoever was on the rise. He could hardly feel superior to him though, standing there, doing nothing as Nathaniel loomed over Margritte and glared at her son. But to stand against him would be the highest treason; Nathaniel acted with the authority of his patron and Will had no power in the city to fall back on. He was stripped of Charms, had no sword and no desire to incur his patron’s wrath. If he fell from grace, Cathy and Sophia would be put at risk and he had to protect them.
Nathaniel drew his sword and pointed it at Alexander. “Do I have your vote, sir?”
The poor man looked at his mother, who was curling into a ball, shaking as her world fell apart. The tip of the Patroon’s sword pressed into his waistcoat and Will looked away, as disgusted with his brother as he was with himself. He listened to each member of the Council giving their vote under duress until Alexander said, “The Council recognises Nathaniel Reticulata-Iris as the Chancellor of Oxenford.”
Will watched Nathaniel pull Alexander from the chair, shove him aside and sit in it himself. “You are no longer the Vice-Chancellor.” He pointed his sword at the Wisteria. “You are.” Looking back at Alexander, he said, “You’ll go and free the Irises from wherever you’ve imprisoned them and you’ll bring them here. If any of them have even a scratch upon them, I’ll inflict twice the injury upon you.”
Alexander took a step towards his mother, reaching down to help her up but Nathaniel batted him away with the flat of the blade. “She stays there until I have somewhere to put her. Go.”
Will stepped aside to let Alexander pass. Nathaniel smiled at him. “Well, that’s all been seen to. Let’s get you home, shall we?”
“Margritte is a resident of Londinium,” Will said. “I’ll take her with me.”
Nathaniel shook his head. “The crime was committed here, dear brother.” His smile was cruel and it sickened Will. “I will dispense justice in the way I see fit.”
27
Cathy felt sweat prickling beneath the high lace collar of her dress. The hushed tension in the room was becoming unbearable.
“But what about the Patroons?” a lady asked.
She’d worried about that herself but she tried her best not to show it. “I’ll handle them. None of them will be able to come and take you away, I promise. You’ll be safe.”
“You can guarantee that?”
Could she? She was about to lie and say yes, she could keep them safe from anyone and anything, but of course she couldn’t. “I can’t,” she said after a pause. “I can’t predict everything they might do. All I can give you is the chance to stand up and say, ‘No, you can’t treat people like this’. I hope it will force them into realising the world has changed. As long as this place stays secret they hold the power. Do you really think that your friends and families will let anything happen to hurt you even more, once they discover what has been done? Do you think the Patroons could keep control if everyone knew you were no threat and yet were treated terribly again?”
People looked at each other, searching the faces of their friends for courage or fear.
“It’s a risk,” Cathy said. “But if we do nothing, more people will be silenced. You’ll all die of old age. Nothing will ever change. Come with me. Make it happen!”
A woman stood up and tossed her napkin onto the table. Cathy had spoken to her earlier that day, when she was disguised. She was one of the women from the old group, one of those who disappeared from Society because she spoke her mind. Her name was Clarissa—one of the missing women she’d been looking for—and she looked like she was in her sixties. “I’m going with her,” she announced to the room. “We have nothing to lose except a slow death. Let’s do something with some meaning, for goodness’ sake! If this girl is willing to put her neck on the line, then we should be willing to stand up for ourselves too.”
Another woman stood up, then another who pulled a man onto his feet too and kissed him on the cheek. Several were looking towards the elderly woman who’d urged Cathy on, but she was still seated. When at least half of the room had stood up she did so too and then many more rose from their chairs. Cathy wished she’d met that lady earlier; she seemed influential. In moments, only one man remained seated.
When everyone else noticed, he shouted, “Why’s everyone standing up?” The woman next to him explained in a loud voice and he beamed at Cathy. “Splendid. I want to give my son a piece of
my mind and a good curse to boot.”
Cathy looked at them all and took a moment to let what she’d done sink in. She soon realised that if she dwelt upon it she’d implode with anxiety and be unable to take another step forwards, so she considered the practicalities instead. “If you have any personal items you want to take with you, go and pack them now. We’ll be leaving in ten minutes. If you need help to do that, let me know.” Cathy stepped down from the chair. “Carter, go to the staff, answer any questions they have and let me know if any of them make calls on their mobiles. They may have them, seeing as they live in Mundanus all the time.”
“Do you want me to stop the calls?”
“No, the Agency will find out very soon, one way or the other. If they want to turn up and curse me, you’ll be able to stop them, right?”
“Yes, your Grace, I understand.”
The elderly woman came to her side as he left. “You’re one of Dame Iris’ little poodles, aren’t you?” The woman was peering at her through a lorgnette with a beautifully decorated handle.
Cathy wasn’t sure how to react. “This hasn’t got anything to do with Dame Iris.”
“Oh, I know that dear.” The lady continued to scrutinise her. “Duchess but recently wed, that’s interesting, and someone the Dame really doesn’t think very capable at all. You’re not very graceful either. Oh, dear, I should imagine you’re having a perfectly horrid time with her.”
Cathy wondered why the lady was taking such an interest when there were more exciting things to attend to.
“Less than a year under her thumb, I see, that must be why you still have some spirit in you. Before you ask, I can tell by your dress. She had it made for you, didn’t she?”
“How could you possibly know all this from a dress?”
“The trim is less than an inch wide and made from lace. She detests lace and only has it put on the dresses of those she likes the least. And your cuffs have three buttons at the wrist, indicating you need a great deal of attention. But don’t be offended—take heart in the knowledge of her little system and the fact she needs to do these things. She has a terrible memory for new brides. You all blur into one for her, because she’s so desperately bored of having to look after you all.”
